Ghosts of Christmases Past
by Queen of the Castle
Summary: All Harry wants for Christmas is the one thing he can't have. Past Harry/Draco


Author's Notes: For the slythindor100 advent challenge.

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The last thing Harry was in the mood to do during the holidays was spend a whole day surrounded by a bunch of noisy, smiling, _happy_ people, even if they were people he happened to like. Perhaps especially then. After all, just because there was really nothing Harry personally felt like he could celebrate this year, that didn't mean that he particularly wanted to drag everyone else down with him. It was a foregone conclusion that his Christmas was going to be beyond rubbish, sure, but he didn't have to go and pointlessly ruin their holiday as well.

In the end, though, he wasn't left with much choice. However much he protested against the idea when Hermione and Ron ganged up and insisted he join the Weasleys for the usual Christmas feast and present opening rituals, they just would not listen to the word 'no'. So Harry ultimately agreed despite himself.

When he stepped through the Burrow's front door in the morning, it was immediately clear to Harry that Mrs Weasley had taken it upon herself to spread about even more 'much needed Christmas cheer' than she usually did. He sincerely hoped that wasn't for his benefit, because it really wasn't helping. Quite the opposite. The result, as far as Harry was concerned, was that the interior of the house looked like a Christmas elf had thrown up all over it. The sparkling decorations grated on Harry's already stretched nerves. He had a fervent desire to demolish the whole lot with a single destructive spell right then and there. Maybe _that_ might make him feel the tiniest bit less miserable about this whole Christmas experience. Sadly, he wouldn't actually do it, of course. Not only would he upset the Weasleys and wreck everything, but he'd likely end up on the receiving end of more of those pitying expressions he hated so much.

Not that they weren't giving him enough of those looks, to be honest. Mrs Weasley had made a disapproving clucking sound and said, "There's no point in moping about, dear," when she saw the way Harry despondently buried himself off in a corner, pointedly separating himself from the general merriment. Hasn't it been more than long enough, she didn't add, but Harry could see she was thinking it all the same. _All_ of his friends and adopted family were thinking it, and had been for months.

That was mainly Harry's fault, he had to admit. Of course they couldn't grasp why he'd been so deeply affected; not when he'd been so careful to make them believe it was nothing more than some passing whim. But logic wasn't always worth much in the face of emotion, and so that knowledge didn't make dealing with their inability to understand any less tiring for Harry.

He was glad to retreat from it all at the end of the afternoon. Yet even when Harry arrived back at his own house, he found he couldn't enjoy the solitude and blessed near-silence either. He knew well enough that he _shouldn't_ be alone, on this day of all days.

Since he clearly wasn't going to achieve any kind of contentment that evening, Harry settled for throwing himself into his armchair and staring into the fireplace for hours, all the while desperately willing the flames to suddenly turn green, signalling the arrival of a welcome visitor.

Draco would step out of the Floo into the living room looking as immaculate as ever, barely having picked up a hint of soot along the way (a talent which Harry had envied quite a lot, since _he_ always emerged so liberally coated in the stuff that he looked like a coal miner). He'd greet Harry with a smirk, a taunt about the horrid ornaments that adorned Harry's tree year after year (though certainly not this year), a suggestive remark about it still not being too late to stage their own private Christmas celebrations, and maybe even a joke about sucking on Harry's candy cane. Then Harry, having spent most of the day working himself into a heightened state of anticipation as he waited for Draco to hurry up and tell that prat who insisted on making him work on Christmas Day to _shove it_, would practically tackle him. Draco wouldn't complain at the rough treatment, though. He'd be too busy making little gasping sounds by then.

That was their Christmas tradition, even if they'd been the only ones that knew about it. It was exactly the way things had happened for the previous three Christmas Days in a row. Harry would give anything to make this the fourth.

Harry waited, and waited, willing it to happen again this year... wishing that Draco would appear in the fireplace so that Harry could _see_ him, just for a moment, smiling and glad to be there.

As the clock chimed midnight and Christmas Day officially ended, Harry knew it was way past time to forget about it and go to bed.

But even though Harry had known all along that Draco wouldn't appear – certainly not voluntarily, not anymore – he still couldn't bring himself to give up quite yet.

~FIN~


End file.
